


braids for the bride

by sassymajesty



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Engagement, F/F, Hair Braiding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:49:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassymajesty/pseuds/sassymajesty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Braids instead of engagement rings, huh?” Clarke jokes and knows Lexa doesn’t really get it, but she’ll explain their traditions later, when she’s actually awake. “Why so early though?”<br/>“Because our people-“ Clarke doesn’t miss on the possessive pronoun, and what it implies, “-are not to blame for our decision to celebrate our engagement until nearly dawn.” Her voice is firm, but Clarke can tell Lexa is blushing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	braids for the bride

**Author's Note:**

> filling a prompt sent anonymously on Tumblr: "Lexa braiding Clarke's hair and being flirty while doing it."

It’s early – that much Clarke does know.

Truly, all she wants to do is lean back and rest her eyes that feel sandy and refuse to focus on anything for more than a few seconds. Her body _begs_ for a few more hours of sleep, but as she tries to recline and lay her head on Lexa’s shoulder, a firm hand props her upright again.

“Stay still,” Lexa mutters as she divides blonde hair, combing her fingers through what could most certainly be described as _bed hair_.

Letting her shoulders sink forward, Clarke closes her eyes while willing her head to stay up, “It’s so hard to do that when you’re doing _that._ ” As lean fingers run smoothly through the silky tresses, all Clarke can do was sigh and let a smile creep up on her face – maybe waking up at this ungodly hour had its perks.

Sleep is a heavy veil, trying to lure Clarke back into its arms – and she wants to, _god_ , she wants to. She crosses her legs under her with more than a little difficulty; she is wearing Lexa’s clothes, as the Commander had deemed her Ark’s clothes unreasonable, and their sizes didn’t exactly match. Clarke half suspects that’s the reason why Lexa wants her to wear her clothes – her pants are too tight but they _do_ make the blonde’s behind look like a goddess’s.

Giggling at her own thoughts – and blaming the lack of sleep for them – Clarke puts her elbows on  her knees and sinks her head on her hands, figuring a bit of support could help her in keeping her head still as Lexa works wonders on her.

Lexa sits taller than her, long legs resting on each side of her in the middle of the bed, a bunch of hair ties beside them. The Commander is already up and alert while Clarke needed help putting on her jacket – Lexa’s jacket, technically; she really needed to get herself some grounder clothes.

“Why do I need to braid my hair?” Clarke asks almost grumpily, her words slurred as the effort from moving her jaw seems too much.

“Because you’re my bride,” Lexa answers simply, combing blonde tresses from root to ends, making sure there are no more knots, “And being betrothed to the Commander means you need to wear a certain braid.”

“Braids instead of engagement rings, huh?” Clarke jokes and knows Lexa doesn’t really get it, but she’ll explain their traditions later, when she’s actually awake. “Why so early though?”

“Because _our_ people-“ Clarke doesn’t miss on the possessive pronoun, and what it implies, “-are not to blame for our decision to celebrate our engagement until nearly dawn.” Her voice is firm, but Clarke can tell Lexa is blushing.

Last night, Lexa had proposed to Clarke – in full grounder fashion, more of a delicate ceremony than a question blurted out.

Clarke had said yes – _yes, yes, a million times yes._

It had been over dinner. The Commander had brought their meal to the bedroom, lit candles and whispered sweet nothings between bites and sips. Clarke had braided her hair, more for a cooling effect than a fashion choice – and it had been a simple French braid, like her mother used to use, and nothing like the intricate patterns she was sure Lexa would work on her hair. And, for sure, both their braids had been messy and mussed as they came undone for the first time that evening.

As Lexa starts to part her hair in several sections, using her nails to make it clean and neat, Clarke shivers. Blonde hair is played with, tossed to one side and braided expertly on the other. Clarke feels each pull and twist, and suddenly she’s not sleepy at all – she just wants Lexa to braid her hair all day.

“How are we gonna tell your warriors we’re gonna get married?” Clarke asked in a husky voice that had little to do with sleep, “I’m not exactly their favorite.”

“We won’t,” Lexa states as she clips a hair tie in place, moving on to the next patch of hair, “They’ll see your braid, they’ll see you beside me, they’ll understand.” Her fingers work fast and she clips another hair tie, connecting both braids before repeating the same pattern once more, “I’m their Commander, I rule them in war times. They have no say on who I love.”

Love.

Lexa states it so freely now – in bed, in hurried whispers, in a language Clarke didn’t understand until a few months ago, out loud, against her skin, all the time, making sure her _bride_ knows it – and it still makes Clarke quiver every time she says it.

Clarke relishes in her words and sits quietly as Lexa braids her hair, fingers light as feathers, occasionally brushing her skin as she works her way through the length and tosses a few braids over Clarke’s shoulder.

“There,” Lexa whispers quietly and sounds almost proud of her handiwork, “You’re ready.”

Clarke turns around to face Lexa and by the look on the Commander’s face, _she_ was not – Lexa looks stunned, almost surprised by how different Clarke looks.

“You look scared, do I look bad?” Clarke jumps to the conclusion, and Lexa laughs at that, before reaching for a mirror and handing it to the blonde.

As she inspects herself in the mirror, Clarke can understand the reaction. A astonished face looks back at her from the surface and she has a hard time believing _that_ is her. Her face is clean, her hair is drawn back and braids form something akin to a crown across her head.

“I wish you could see the back,” Lexa says from her side, in an almost reverent tone, “You look marvelous.”

Lexa quickly works braids on her own hair, practice making perfection as she works the patterns without paying one bit of attention to it, mapping Clarke’s bare face as if seeing for the first time.

They kiss before walking out for breakfast, being careful they can’t let it get heated or ruin their braids as they symbolize their new relationship.

When they do walk outside, fingers intertwined and matching smiles, Clarke hears whispers and hurried shushing and compliments said under children’s breaths – but she doesn’t see the look on their faces. She’s too focused on Lexa’s new braid patterns, that almost match hers, to care about anything else in the world.


End file.
